First off, let me state that I am not wishing death upon my parents or planning their funerals or counting my inheritance. BUT, as these two lovely individuals age, I often find myself thinking about what memories of them will last after they’re gone.
For my Mom, it’s her singing. She used to sing in the kitchen when cooking or doing dishes. That was it. She has a great voice, loves all kinds of music, but unless you live under the same roof with her, rarely do you hear her sing. I remember when I was an angst-ridden-Siouxsie-and-the-Banshees-listening bitchy teen stopping whatever dramatic thing I was doing to tell her that she had a really good voice; that she should sing in a bar or something. To which she, of course, laughed.
For my Dad, it’s water sports all the way. He was the guy who always got in there with us, flung us around, carried us on his shoulders, dove with us to the bottom for stuff, forced us to be on swim teams, cheered us on, made us chug iced tea and OJ before meets, and wiped our chins when we puked after each race. I always figured it was because he was in the Navy and liked the water.
Now that I’m an adult, I find myself wondering what my kids will remember. I’m realizing they are getting old enough to start imprinting some memories that will last them into adulthood.
Will my daughter remember what it was like when Daddy still lived here? Will they remember me yelling? Will they remember me saying “Not right now, honey.” Or “in a minute!” Will they remember me cussing? Will they remember me doing yoga on the living room floor and chanting “Om?”
Or will it be simpler things like riding bikes in the driveway, making juice in the juicer, having breakfast for dinner, or going to the park?
It will likely be some odd combination of all of the above that will land us into family therapy, move them out of state to get away from me, and make the holidays unbearable. There’s your memories, baby.
In honor of NaBloPoMo.